


Waiting

by 96percentdone (Nakanaide)



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, DR3 never happened, I Don't Know the Difference, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, drabble?, i guess this is angst with a vaguely happy ending, idk - Freeform, sdr2.5 also never happpened, whatever man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 14:48:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16997028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nakanaide/pseuds/96percentdone
Summary: A mediation on Komaeda, as Hinata waits at his bedside.This is actually a prompt fill I did on tumblr, hence why it's a gift. But I liked it so here.





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halfpastmonsoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpastmonsoon/gifts).



[The room is still](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOq7ZNTPVug), despite the wind teasing the curtains through the opened window. The slight chill of the breeze just adds to the stillness of the already sterile white room, as if to suggest the room itself is frozen. Maybe it is. Maybe Hajime never woke up and even this is just another layer to the Neo World Program, one with a room that’s permanently glitched out. He snorts lowly; if he said that to Kuzuryuu, he’d get yelled at for sure. “Hey, Komaeda,” he greets, standing in the doorway.

He takes a seat at the unmoving doctor’s chair that’s always by the bedside. He’s the only one who spends any time in here. No one else would move it. The closest they get to this room is standing outside the door to come and get him. None of them would visit. He’s not even sure why he does. “I see you’re still…” He wants to say dead, especially with the image of Komaeda skewered with a spear and stabbed all over permanently ingrained in his brain. “unconscious.”

For a few minutes, all he does is watch the messy white-haired man on the bed. His chest gently rises and falls, but his eyes don’t stir at all. Hajime hasn’t seen them open since the simulator. He wonders if that cloudy shade of green will ever show itself again. “Of course you’re the last one to wake up.” They’ve been here for a few months now. It was a slow and somewhat random process that brought back the others, seemingly happening on a whim of fate. Or luck. “Your luck can pull so much crap, but it’s content to leave you like this, huh?”

Hajime sighs, leaning back in the chair and staring at the ceiling, tracing patterns in the tiles. It might be better to leave him like this. Rehabilitating is a constant ongoing messy process for the people who weren’t destroyed before the world was, but Komaeda was always a disaster, wasn’t he? The simulation proved it. Despite taking away all his memories of Hope’s Peak, Komaeda still kickstarted the killing game. “Or maybe this is what you want.”

He still remembers the stories Komaeda told in the bright lighting of the funhouse. Of terrorists and plane crashes and kidnappings and terminal illness. They all turned out to be true; Hajime made a point of going through the files they have on-hand to confirm it. “You don’t want to wake up. You didn’t even want to be awake.” Why would he? Who would want to live in fear wondering when luck will take everything from you leaving behind only a sad consolation prize?

He doesn’t think Komaeda realized that though. Komaeda killed himself looking for a hope he’d never find. Or maybe hope was death itself. A groan, “I don’t know. I still don’t get you,” Hajime groans, sitting forward. The afternoon sunlight streams from the windows but the quiet of the room always makes him just tired enough to not care. “I don’t think I’ll ever get you,” he mumbles. Not unless Komaeda confesses how he really feels.  _Not unless you wake up._

He pokes that pale cheek. It squishes slightly beneath his finger, but Komaeda doesn’t stir at all. Another sigh. “I don’t know why I care,” he says, continuingly squishing Komaeda’s cheek beneath his index finger. He probably shouldn’t. Even after all that time trying to understand and reach out, Komaeda stood far out of reach, lost in a delusion only he understood. Even if he woke up, what would change? Could anything or anyone here even help him?

_“Please don’t forget. I love—the hope sleeping within you, from the bottom of my heart.”_

Hajime rapidly shakes his head, ignoring the heat creeping to his cheeks.  _Not that cryptic shit again…_ He’ll forget about the obvious implication. It makes things a little easier. Sometimes he thinks maybe it’s better if he never understands at all. It flits through his brain, offering an easy way out of his growing stack of tangled feelings he can’t name. He’ll think about it, but before too long he’s assaulted with memories that he still hasn’t completely puzzled out, and they drown the impulse entirely.

He folds his arms on the bed and rests his head in them. Through the thin hospital sheets, he can feel Komaeda’s chest rise and fall. The only sign he’s alive. The soft but familiar rhythm lulls him towards sleep.

“Sometimes…I think maybe I’ll wake up here, cause you moved the sheets when you sat up or something. And you’ll say something ridiculous, like ‘Sorry, were you sleeping, Hinata-kun? I didn’t mean to disturb you,’ despite the fact that you’ve been in a coma for months. And I’ll jerk awake and demand all sorts of answers that you’ll just smile and laugh off. But you’d be here to do that.”

He’d be here. And they could talk, and laugh, and recover, and smile, and grow to an understanding together. They could find their future together.  _But you’re not here._ Hajime is starting to wonder if Komaeda will ever come back.

His eyes flutter closed. He’ll keep hoping those green eyes will open again. He smiles. Hope was always Komaeda’s thing, wasn’t it?

The sheets shift.

A gasp.

**Author's Note:**

> if you didn't click the link it's just the song I thought suited the work. dai's music is so. pretty. ANYWAY thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed


End file.
